Bullseye
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: "I've made it my mission, bird boy, to make you miss at least one of those targets," she says, a determined glint in her eye. Clint grins at her and notches an arrow. "Challenge accepted, Lewis." ClintDarcy, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Thor or The Avengers._

_**Summary: "I've made it my mission, bird boy, to make you miss at least one of those targets," she says, a determined glint in her eye. Clint grins at her and notches an arrow. "Challenge accepted, Lewis." ClintDarcy, oneshot**_

_Alrighty! I haven't written anything for these fandoms in a while. Really, I haven't written a lot lately and am trying to get back into the groove, and I think writing this might have cleared my writer's block! But anyway, I really like this pairing and have always wanted to give then a shot. I hope that everyone likes this little fic! Thanks so much for reading!_

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**Bullseye**

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Clint Barton stretches his arms, the corded muscle there bulging and contracting as he does so. He sets down the case that contains his bow and flicks open the latches. Pulling out the weapon, he gives one swift motion that causes the edges of the bow to dart out as he adjusts the quiver of arrows on his back. Walking over to the shooting range, he barely gives one look in the direction where Darcy Lewis waits in the wings.

The dark-haired girl peaks out from a random bush, twigs and leaves clinging to her hair, and blinks a few times.

She isn't sure when this obsession started, but she doesn't mind at all. She has a few theories as to why she is so obsessed with this particular mission, but she can't pick one that was the sole reasoning behind her thought process.

Darcy chalks it up to one fact, she supposes - he is so damn _perfect_.

She watched him at The Avengers' tower just idly throwing things at targets, whether it be darts or tossing paper balls into a trash can. He never missed _anything_. He never hit anywhere other than what he aimed for.

When she asked what his secret was, he just smirked and said, "Talent."

And she kind of hated him for it.

She tries to be as quiet as she can when sidling up to him. Her feet make little to no sound on the grass as a cool, wintry breeze floats around her, ruffling her hair around her shoulders. She presses her fingers against the wool hat on her head to keep it in place.

Darcy keeps her eyes on his figure, strong and solid against the backdrop of the woods around her. He notches an arrow and fires. It sticks solidly into the center of the target, a dull _thunk _marking its entry.

_Jerk, _she thinks viciously, her hands twining around her scarf and pulling it closer to her chin.

Clint fixes another arrow and aims, but this time before he releases, he says, "Hello, Darcy."

"Damn it," she whispers. Not quietly enough, because Clint laughs in response.

The arrow lands home.

The jig up, she stands up straight, leaving her crouching position for something that didn't hurt her back so. She struts over to Clint, confidence in her stride, and looks at him. "Sup."

"Can I ask why you followed me here?" he asks, swiftly pulling an arrow out of the quiver on his back and putting it in place on the bow. He fires; the arrow sinks into the bullseye. Darcy thinks he's trying to make some kind of triangular shape within the target. It makes her sick.

"Believe you just did," Darcy replies with a sarcastic smile.

Clint gives her a look that would normally make any other person fess up immediately. However, it just increases Darcy's resolve. There is an unbearable silence that lasts for as long as the two can tolerate, but it is Clint who breaks it first, an impatience uncharacteristic of him.

"Why did you follow me here?" he asks, his voice as edged as one of his arrowheads.

Darcy smirks then, again adjusting her hat on her head. "I've made it my mission, bird boy, to make you miss at least one of those targets," she says, a determined glint in her eye.

He stares at her for a moment, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. Clint then grins at her and notches an arrow. "Challenge accepted, Lewis."

She sputters for a bit, incredulous at her childish offer being taken seriously. "Yeah?"

"Did I stutter?" he drawls, letting another arrow go. It lands in the center, and Darcy growls at him. "You're failing incredibly right now, though."

Her mind whirling as Clint shifts over a few feet to an unmarred target, she tries to think of all the things that might distract him. He puts an arrow in place on his bow.

And Darcy starts singing.

_"Ra-ra ah-ah-ah. Ro-ma Ro-ma-ma. Ga-ga, ooh la la - "_

The arrow sinks into the target, hitting it dead center.

"That only affected my ears," Clint teases as he readies another arrow.

Darcy clears her throat. "What's the deal with Ovaltine? The mug is round, the carton is round. Why not call it Roundtine?"

_Thunk. _The arrow sinks home. "Plagiarizing Jerry Seinfeld, now?"

"I don't even know what Ovaltine is," Darcy admits.

Clint chuckles and then fires another arrow before Darcy even has the mindset to realize what he was doing. This was getting to be a desperate situation.

"Are you ready to hear the most annoying sound in the world - "

"I've been listening to your voice for the past five minutes," Clint comments. _Thunk._

Darcy growls at him, wondering just how _calm _one individual is able to be.

She blurts a line of random, unrelated curse words at his general person.

_Thunk._

"I hate you."

"Discouraged so quickly?" Clint asks in a cheeky manner, reaching behind himself to find another arrow before sliding over to the next target. Darcy scoots along after him.

"Look! Steve and Tony are making out!" Darcy yelps, pointing to a random patch of wilderness.

That causes Clint to outright laugh, throwing his head back and letting out the most rich-sounding chuckle Darcy had ever heard. It was enough to set her heart thudding in her chest.

After collecting himself, he shoots the target. The arrow lands in the bullseye. Of course.

"Look! _Bruce_ and Tony are making out!"

_Thunk. _"You think the people involved make any difference?" Another chuckle leaves his throat.

"Well, maybe you prefer one couple over the other?" Darcy says airily, flipping a strand of dark hair over her shoulder just as a gust of wind comes by and messes up her hair entirely.

Clint scoffs.

Letting out a sigh, Darcy presses her lips together, thinking of what could possibly distract the marksman to allow her victory. All her other ideas had fallen flat, and she feels her shoulders slump.

Then, an idea.

"I'm waiting..." Clint taunts, putting another arrow into place on his bow. His eyes focus only on the target.

"Oops! I seem to have lost my shirt. My voluptuous bosom is out and about! Can I use your shirt to cover myself, good sir?"

Clint doesn't even flinch as he sends the arrow flying into the center of the target.

_Okay,_ Darcy thinks furiously as she watches him move over to an untainted target. _Let's see how you deal with this._

Just as Clint goes to shoot the last arrow in his quiver, Darcy moves in closer to him, yanks his head down to hers, and presses her lips hard against his. In a movement so discreet she would not have noticed otherwise, he lets go of the hand that was supporting the arrow and presses his hand to her cheek as he kisses her back.

This movement causes the whole situation to be put in perspective.

Darcy jolts back from him, her mouth curving into a smile as she points at him. "Ah ha! I made you - "

And then her eyes settle on the arrow Clint released, sitting firmly in the bullseye of the target.

"You are _inhuman_," she says, gaping.

Clint smirks at her, reaching out and pressing his calloused fingers to her jaw, which had dropped, pushing it up. "You're going to catch flies like that."

"Shut up."

His smirk turns into an all-out grin. Clint shifts the empty quiver of arrows on his back and then moves to collect all the ones that he had shot into the targets. Darcy wants to projectile _puke_ all over his _face_.

He approaches her, placing the collected arrows back in their quiver, and smiles.

"Another round," Darcy demands, placing her hands on her hips.

Clint quirks a brow at her. "Okay."

"I'm not leaving until - _what_? _Okay_?" she asks, incredulous that he's actually playing along.

"I'm game," he tells her. He leans down and smirks. "Maybe it'll end the same way."

This causes the blood to rise to her cheeks; she wasn't used to seeing him so...open. Darcy laughs in spite of it. "Uh huh. In your dreams."

But, in spite of her words, she grins, and tells herself that, _Heck yes, it's gonna end the same way._

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_**End.**_


End file.
